


capable

by tsunderestorm



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Breastfeeding, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24811093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: Tseng expects his problems to go away after he has the twins. The hair trigger libido, the heightened sensitivity, the way Rufus whispering “good job, Tseng“ has his tits leaking through his shirt, everything… but it doesn’t.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Comments: 11
Kudos: 66





	capable

**Author's Note:**

> There’s a hint of pregnancy kink here but the flavor is faint, like, Pregnancy Kink Lite™️. Pregnancy kink-flavored La Croix - like you thought about it when you made the thing, but you can’t really taste it. Also a one-off mention of Rufus’ mommy kink, blink and you’ll miss it. Also no actual sex in here - sorry about it!
> 
> Anyways, wouldn’t it be hot if Rufus sucked Tseng’s pretty milky titties? I think so, too. He’d have the prettiest big, dark nipples after he had babies. Think about it!!

Tseng expects his problems to go away after he has the twins. The hair trigger libido, the heightened sensitivity, the way Rufus whispering “ _good job, Tseng”_ has his tits leaking through his shirt _,_ everything… but it doesn’t. 

It gets worse.

And, of course, the milk is now flowing freely from him, full and rich, now, instead of the watery fluid it had been before their birth.

“Such a good daddy,” Rufus praises as Tseng nurses the babies, slotting up behind him with his arms circled around to rest beneath their tiny, swaddled bodies. Chin on Tseng’s shoulder, he adds, “Such a good _mommy_.”

Tseng allows himself to relax against him, just enough to feel the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath, the knot of his tie against his shoulder blade. Magnus whines when Rufus nudges his chubby cheek, and when Tseng shifts just slightly for comfort, Adrian coos, a wet, sleepy sound. Soon, they’ve eaten their fill and they’re dozing in Tseng’s capable arms. Rufus watches him like a hawk as he tucks them into their cribs, sets their moogle and puppy mobiles turning with a nudge of his finger. His gaze feels like fingers on his skin, peeling away his clothes, and once he’s gotten into bed it’s a matter of seconds before Rufus sets to making that a reality. 

“You’re still sore,” he says, kneeling behind Tseng as he sits on the bed, cupping Tseng’s tender breasts as his thumbs rub over the nipples. Tseng shivers as undoes the last few buttons on his shirt, looking down as a few stray droplets of milk trickle from his wet nipple. Sighing, he leans his weight against Rufus, too sleepy to protest.

He _is_ sore. It’s his own fault, honestly - he isn’t without options; he _could_ relieve himself of this excess of milk that his body has seen fit to produce, eager to ensure their twin sons are well taken care of. He could pump. 

Or - 

“Let me,” Rufus urges, voice low and buttery-smooth against his ear. The tone brokers no dispute. 

They shift so Tseng sits cross-legged on the bed, shirt no longer just unbuttoned but discarded altogether. Rufus rests his head comfortably on Tseng’s thigh, looking so smug, positively dripping self-satisfaction in the few brief seconds before his full, glossy lips latch onto Tseng’s swollen nipple. 

Rufus’ cheeks hollow as he sucks eagerly, and Tseng’s fingers circle beneath his head to hold him, tightening their grip in icy platinum strands. Rufus moans, eyes fluttering closed as he drinks and Tseng feels the milk flow, closes his eyes against the sensational sight of Rufus’ mouth curling into a smile around his nipple. When Rufus pulls back, his eyes are glassy and unfocused, tongue gliding over his plush, wet lower lip as he looks up at Tseng.

“I’m just a bit jealous…” Rufus confesses, tongue circling Tseng’s nipple to catch any spilled milk, “that they get this all of the time. It used to be only me…”

Tseng’s face heats, unbidden. Its near-impossible to embarrass him but Rufus has always found ways, clever little sentiments to catch him off-guard. Rufus is referring, of course, both to halfway through Tseng’s second trimester, when the twins hadn’t yet needed the milk he was producing and it had been all Rufus’... but also to their time in their dorm they’d shared for three years when President Shinra has sent them off to boarding school together. Rufus had been an insufferable brat, blessed with too much power and the attitude to match, already with a host of bizarre sexual appetites even at the tender age of seventeen. After hearing it mentioned offhandedly once, he had become determined to make Tseng lactate, to further complicate their relationship when Rufus curled Tseng’s hair around his finger and murmured _mommy_. To make Tseng _need_ him.

He had succeeded. 

“Even _you_ have to make concessions somewhere, Mister President,” Tseng says, breathless. 

Rufus scoffs, digging his fingernail into a nipple until Tseng hisses, half pain and half frustration when a stream of milk spills forth. How is he so _full_? It’s not as if he’s denying the twins any nourishment, nursing them half a dozen times a day, and still he’s aching half the time. Tseng is no stranger to pain, but this is… different. It’s not the raw bloom of pain from a gunshot, it’s not the slice of a torturer’s knife or the crackle of materia that lingers deep into the bone marrow even after the pain is gone. This is something like an uncomfortable fullness, like his body can’t accommodate all it has within it. A dull throb that’s so sweet it makes his teeth ache with it.

Rufus looks angelic as he licks at Tseng’s nipple, tongue flicking at the hard nub of it before he circles the areola. His face conveys his feelings plain as day: he doesn’t _want_ to make concessions. And with Tseng’s tits as uncomfortably full as they are, he doesn’t have to.

“I don’t believe that I do,” he purrs, languishing in Tseng’s grip, getting comfortable. He’s still dressed from the day, stiff collar and perfect Windsor knot of his tie, and Tseng trails his fingers over it, lets his fingers glide over the bob of Rufus’ throat as his lover swallows the milk he’s offering.

Tseng sighs, fights back the urge to say“yes, sir,” because it hardly seems appropriate when one’s boss is suckling at your tit. Instead he says, honestly, “I… appreciate this.”

Rufus _hmms._ “And _I_ appreciate how well you’ve taken to this,” Rufus says, a moment of gentle compassion compelling him to reach up to cup Tseng’s cheek in his hand. Tseng’s hair falls as he dips his head, tickling his bare chest and making him bite back a moan. Why is he still so fucking _sensitive?_

Rufus continues nuzzling at Tseng’s chest, unwilling to stop talking or nursing and settling for a combination of both, licking at a rivulet of milk that threatens to leak down his chest and out of his reach. “Although I can’t say that I’m surprised, given what an exemplary job you’ve done at everything else you’ve ever been assigned.”

Something about that phrasing, the implication that setting out to provide Rufus with an heir had been an assignment, should upset him. Anyone else would read the comment as impersonal, but Tseng knows Rufus both professionally and personally, the intimate intricacies of his mind and the meanings he hides between the lines he speaks. It’s a compliment, and not even a backhanded one. Their lives have been intertwined in this way for a while: professional, personal, lines that blur like asphalt in the midday heat.

Rufus smiles, tucking the long strands of Tseng’s hair behind his ear. He should braid that for him later, he thinks - Tseng hates to sleep with it down, as lovely as Rufus thinks it is. He treasures the feel of silky strands falling over his fingers like the prettiest waterfall before he murmurs, “Well done, Tseng.”

The words have an immediate effect on Tseng that is not lost on Rufus. He can feel Tseng’s pulse in his tit, can practically hear the thump of his heart hammering against his rib cage. He can feel it in Tseng’s body, the warmth it gives off, the way this gets him Tseng, in raw and unfinished form: unguarded, pliant, _needy._ He knows his most trusted Turk has a love-hate relationship with praise, knows that after a lifetime of not receiving it he doesn’t know how to react, knows that from _him_ it’s like a hand between his legs.

Tseng isn’t arrogant, per se. Rufus knows that he is confident enough to recognize when he’s done a suitable job, humble enough to remember all too well the sharp taste of failure. The previous administration had been quick to hand out reprimands, less forthcoming in their commendations, but as the new President he is different, praising Tseng for each task completed with spectacular results.

For Tseng, it makes it all too easy (and rewarding, even) to perform well, to rise to the challenge of surpassing even his own superb performance. But this? This, he had gone above and beyond in a previously unfathomable way, giving Rufus two heirs when he’d expected only one, twin Shinra boys to rule the Empire that Rufus wants to build.

Tseng beams, lights up like Midgar at midnight and hums his appreciation as Rufus shifts, kissing at the underside of the other breast before popping the nipple into his mouth. He sucks, softer than he had on the other, contended as the milk floods his tongue and Tseng closes his eyes against the flood of pleasure. The too-full feeling is subsiding, leaving in its empty wake a raw, potent hunger. Fingers tugs on Rufus’ hair, guiding the tilt of his head as he licks, bites, laves his tongue over Tseng’s nipple amidst the slow pull of his sucking.

Rufus drinks until the trickle of milk is slow, barely there, and Tseng is no longer aching. The tension is gone from his body, leaving his toned, scarred body loose and pliant. His posture is far more relaxed than it had been before Rufus had set to nursing… it’s a good look for him: nipples shiny with Rufus’ spit all soft features and slow gestures, hair falling over his shoulder.

Rufus pushes Tseng down into the bed and watches his hair fan out around him on the pillow, a blue-black halo. He sits astride Tseng’s waist, pressing his cock against Tseng’s belly as he grinds against him. He’s half-hard, a lazy lust that presents no urgency. His hands glide up the smooth muscle of Tseng’s chest and squeeze a breast in each hand, thumbs circling his nipples as Tseng arches off the bed. “That’s right,” Rufus purrs.

Tseng’s hands come to rest on Rufus, thumbs against the v of his hips, fingers on his trim waist. 

“You know, I almost want to keep you pregnant,” Rufus muses thoughtfully, like he’s deciding what to have for lunch that day rather than considering another monumental commitment on his lover’s behalf. “Would you like that? Belly full of me, constantly? We’re young, still, Tseng, and the Planet is our oyster. I think you would. Your tits, heavy with milk, always?”

Tseng shudders, not in revulsion. The idea is… dizzying. If Tseng hungered for power, he would have been drunk on the sway he’d held while pregnant with the Shinra twins. Protected, revered, nearly worshipped, on the arm of the most powerful man in Midgar and carrying his children. 

Rufus had promised Tseng when he had agreed to the idea that he need only do it once. Only one child, one heir, one perfect Shinra son and he was done… but that was before Rufus had discovered what a delight his lover was when pregnant. His favorite toy, in a way new and improved - still fiercely capable, threatening when he needed to be, still the best operative he could ever ask for… but at the end of the day, behind closed doors, a needier and needier bitch with every day of his pregnancy that passed. 

Rufus continues, fingers skating up to stroke Tseng’s nape as he talks. “You took so well to it the first time. So capable. So fertile… I like the idea, myself.”

“Sir,” Tseng says, voice thick with feeling and then, “ _Rufus_ …”

“Let’s begin again, then.”


End file.
